25

Aster

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When I step back through the wrought iron gates of Chester Cemetery, Aidan is still in the car, seat reclined, playing a game on his phone. I’d only been inside for fifteen minutes, just enough time to wind my way through the tombstones to find Ramsay’s plaque, lying flat against the ground in the west corner. There was a tiny bouquet of tulips sitting on it, still fresh enough to let me know my mom has been by recently.

I don’t come here often. When Ramsay died I wasn’t allowed to come to the funeral, and after that I swore I’d never come at all, but the prison counselors and Jim recommended that I visit when I can. When I learned where we’d be meeting Lindo, I decided to drop by. It’s only my fourth time here in the three years I’ve been at Holsom, but I still haven’t figured out what to say. Mostly I just kneel on the grass and wait for inspiration that never comes, then give up and go home.

The only thing different about today is that I’m not alone. Aidan’s here, like it or not. Aidan, who I thought for sure would trail me through the cemetery, hiding behind headstones, trying to spy. But he didn’t. I’d tripped over my own feet three times looking over my shoulder, but here he is, waiting in the car like I’d asked him to.

I try to muster up some of the righteous anger I’m supposed to have, but I just feel tired. Ever since the night he came over and I planned to lie and tell him I was fucking Shamus and stomp on his heart until it was a bloody mess on the ground, I’ve been tired. I totally failed that night. I’d burst into tears like a nitwit, absolutely not the picture of cold defiance I’d intended. It’s exhausting trying to be angry when you’re supposed to be trying to be happy.

I get in the car and fasten my seatbelt. I can hear Aidan next to me, faint beeps as he wraps up whatever game he’d been playing, the slight groan of the chair as he straightens the seat. Then I can feel him. Feel him watching me, feel him waiting.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment.

“Fine.”

In the handful of times I’d visited this place, there has never been anyone to ask me how I felt about it. If I was okay.

I’m not okay.

Aidan backs out of the parking space and retraces our route through town until we find the highway and pick up speed. The pressure in my chest eases as we leave Chester in the rearview, the past in the past.

“So what’d you do?” he asks.

I have my forehead pressed against the window, and I see my eyes narrow at my reflection. “I said no questions.”

“Not at the cemetery,” he says. “What’d you do to get into the program? Come on. I told you my crime. You tell me yours.”

When I exhale, my breath fogs the window, hiding my face. “Retail fraud,” I say eventually.

“Retail fraud? What’s that?”

“In my case, stealing stuff and returning it for cash or credit.”

“Huh,” he muses. “I never figured you for a klepto.”

“There’s a lot of stuff you never figured about me.”

“You can tell me now, if you want.”

“I’ll pass.”

We make it another mile in blissful silence, then Aidan ruins it.

“So you just like shiny things?” he guesses.

“No, Aidan.”

“The thrill of the hunt?”

“No.”

“Sticking it to the man?”

I turn and glare at him. “I was broke. We needed money. I found a way to get some.”

“Is that why you were with Jerry?”

“I told you it wasn’t. I loved him. He was...nice.” I know nice is a damning word to some people, but I like it. It’s comfortable. It’s rare.

Aidan drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Does he know you’re in the program?”

“No.”

“About the fraud?”

“No.”

“Did you go to juvie?”

“No. Too old.”

He hesitates, then ventures, “Prison?”

I shrug, like it was no big deal. Like I wasn’t terrified every day. “Yeah.”

Now he looks gratifyingly stunned. “Holy shit, Aster.”

“That’s what I said.”

“So how do you do it?”

I sigh. “You just find a receipt, go in, steal the item—”

“Not steal stuff, genius. How do you do this Jekyll and Hyde thing you’ve got going on? It’s like flicking a light switch. You ignore me for half an hour in the car, then you smile at Lindo and all of a sudden you’re perfect little Aster again. What’s the secret?”

“There is no secret. I’m just tired. Perfect little Aster is who I really am.”

“Right.”

I huff. “It’s a work in progress.”

“So if Jerry didn’t know anything about you, how could he love you?”

I flinch. The same fear had circled my brain for the duration of our relationship, but my version was slightly reworded. If Jerry knew anything about me, how could he love me?

“He just did,” I say lamely.

“I see.”

“Well, what about you?” I counter. “You didn’t tell me you were in the program. Do you tell the girls you date that you used to steal cars?”

“I don’t date a lot. And when I do, we don’t do a lot of talking.”

I mock gag. “Spare me.”

“Except you,” he adds. “I talked to you.”

I scoff. “You lied to me.”

“Not technically,” he replies. “I mean, if you think about it.”

“If I think about it I’ll stab you with my pen.”

“Okay, don’t think about it.”

“Who’s Daisy?” I ask. “For real. Don’t tell me it’s your dog.”

“It’s my dog,” he answers. “Was my dog.” He keeps his eyes on the road, even as I stare at him suspiciously. “My dad has a gambling problem. Everything we got, he lost to pay off whatever new debt he’d accumulated. One day I came home from school and Daisy was gone. He’d given her away to cover his ass. Sometimes I’d see her around town with her new family. She didn’t remember me.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

I sit with that story for a second. He seems sincere. “That’s the opposite problem I had,” I say eventually. “My dad wouldn’t give anything away. He held the purse strings so tight we couldn’t get groceries some weeks.”

“Is that who you were visiting? At the cemetery?”

“That was my brother. Drug overdose.” I’ve never told anyone about Ramsay. I didn’t even tell my bunkmate when I got the news in prison.

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. My mom must have been there recently. When I went to jail she found a new man to take care of her and we lost touch. But I think he’s probably okay. Gives her gas money.”

“You lost touch with your mom?”

“Do you talk to your parents?”

“Yeah, of course. They’re fucked up, but they’re my parents. I can’t tell them where I’m staying or my dad will show up and find a way to get in trouble, but I love them anyway.”

“Your mom’s still with him? Even though he lost your dog?”

“She’s an enabler. Helping him is her addiction.”

“That sucks.”

He runs his hands through his messy hair. “I think that’s why I don’t date a lot of Holsom girls. They see me and they want to fix me. I don’t want someone who sees a project.”

“What do you want them to see?”

“I don’t know. What did you see?”

I look away. “Not a project. You were my friend when I didn’t have any. At least, I thought you were.”

He slumps a little. “I was, Aster. I still could be.”

“No. You can’t.”

“Why not? Because of that kiss? It was totally mediocre. There’s no chemistry. Friends only.”

I scoff, offended and amused all at once. With everything that had happened before and after the kiss, I hadn’t given it much thought, which is probably for the best. Thinking about kissing Aidan is a huge mistake.

Kissing him was a huge mistake.

I thought it would be empowering and condescending to kiss him and push him away, but instead it stuck with me, reminding me what I’d been missing.

Because Jerry never kissed me like that.

No one has.

“You’re right.” I sniff. “It was disgusting.”

“Revolting,” he agrees.

I turn back to the window, feeling a little less tired, like the weight of my anger has been lifted, replaced with the relief of having someone learn the truth about me and not run screaming in the opposite direction.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection again. I’m smiling this time.

Just a little.